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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28195233">The Palm Trees</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpearsAbo/pseuds/SpearsAbo'>SpearsAbo</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hellsing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Anorexia, Drug Use, F/F, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Mental Health Issues, Past Child Abuse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:42:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,672</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28195233</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpearsAbo/pseuds/SpearsAbo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When she came into my life, I was ecstatic at first. She would take me to high places and distract me from all of those feelings I was running from. However, she soon started crushing me, bringing me to such low places that I thought I could never escape from. How ironic is that? The person that brought all of me happiness was also the one that tended to destroy it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Zorin Blitz/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I always thought the feelings I felt were odd those ten days. I felt isolated and empty, almost as if something bad were going to happen to me-the strong waves were going to scoop me up and never bring me back home. Or maybe it was my irrational fear of a shark eating me despite the fact that I never left knee high water, and was surrounded by laughing children and their cheerful parents. With that much sound and people, I assume any sea creature would be frightened away. What made that fear worse that day was the fact that it was that fun time of the month for me. My thoughts were often interrupted that day when we were on the beach by the terrifying idea that a shark was able to smell the blood and would come right at me-mouth wide open. Those visions were what pushed me out of the water that day despite the fact that I had never been in an ocean before in all of my seventeen years of living, and might not ever get to experience it again. The thought of dying just frightened me too much. </p><p>I stayed at the beach all day, and at the end of the night I went back home with my family. Not long after we began our journey home though, it started to rain. The sky turned pitch black, and water poured from the abyss above. Maybe I should’ve paid attention that day. I could have foreseen what was coming. </p><p>I watched the plants sway in the storm as we drove back. I watched the palm trees dance in the rain. It was a mesmerizing sight to behold. When I get nervous nowadays, I think back to those palm trees. How nice would it be to be a palm tree in Florida. </p><p>When we finally got home that day, the sky was still dark and thunder was rumbling in the distance, but there was no more rain. At least for then. It was all over until the very next day when it would decide to rain again. Until then, we watched television with the dark skies outside accompanying us. The bright light of the television almost acted as a shelter from the dark skies in an odd way. Or, at least to me they did. I would watch the cooking show that it had to offer and forgot about the storm outside. I forgot about that abyss lurking in the sky, and I forgot about all the rain it brought. There was nothing wrong with a little rain. It made me sleepy. </p><p>I don’t remember what we had for dinner that night. Something simple I think. Probably ravioli with alfredo sauce or something similar with some sweet tea to drink. The sweet tea down there had been really good. I should go there again just to get some more. The Root Beer they had in Florida was alright. For some reason, I absolutely hated the Mountain Dew. It tasted a bit more like battery acid than usual. I got paranoid every single time I took a sip of it that my teeth would rot and I would smell bad. In fact, I am always worried about smelling bad. It is another irrational fear I have for absolutely no reason. Nobody has ever told me that I do smell bad. I just assumed I did one day, and I’ve had the feeling of paranoia ever since. Maybe it has to do with the fact that I went to school with people who did smell bad. Every single day they walked into school with something foul following them. I really don’t want to be that kid. I want people to say I smell nice. Not bad. </p><p>The night before we had ordered pizza from Domino’s. It was decent. I didn’t like the type of pizzas they got, but I was not one to complain. I was getting food for free after all. That, and I got to munch on the cheese bread they had gotten. That was just fine enough for me. </p><p>I think that night was the night I got the bed all to myself. Up until now I had had to share it with somebody else. But I was thankful I got to sleep alone for once. It was a refreshing change even if just for one night. I spread myself out all over the bread, and allowed my burned skin to touch the cool sheets. It was a comforting feeling, though I knew it would be over in just a few, short hours. Knowing this, I savored every last second of the feeling. After all, it made me feel as though everything would be alright. I knew after this feeling subsided, I would feel something chasing me-an unforeseen beast lurking, waiting to catch me. The suspense, the anxiety, the terror would gobble me up and forbid me from leaving. </p><p>As soon as I woke the next morning, it was there. My head was pounding and I felt too terrible to move. Nonetheless, I pushed myself and swung my legs over the side of the bed and got dressed. </p><p>The rest of the vacation went like that. Odd feelings pooling in the pit of my stomach, constant exhaustion, trying to win the race with the unknown force. When the vacation finally ended, I was somewhat relieved. That same relief you feel when a horrific nightmare ends, and you realize you are still safe, laying in your bed, snuggled up with five different blankets. </p><p>It’s so odd. I used to have nightmares frequently when I was younger. In fact, they were so horrible, I would force my tired eyes to stay open for as long as they could manage. I had a Spongebob Squarepants night light at the time; I would stare at it until I could no more. </p><p>When I finally grew out of the night light phase of my life, I switched over to using my closet light. And when the dim outline of the light began to stir negative emotions within me, I shoved that to the side as well. And finally, I was left in the dark. Ironically, this is when the nightmares subsided, and I began to peacefully sleep. </p><p>During that entire summer, I felt as though something was off. Like somebody had misplaced something crucial in my life, but I had no idea where or what it exactly was. All I knew was that something was wrong. And that the palm trees were no longer there to comfort me. </p><p>Shortly after coming back home, I began working right away back at the pizza shop. I would work twelve hour shifts, from morning till night, and always left reeking of sweat and cheap pizza ingredients. Flour would cling to my black work shirt and to the bottom of my cheap shoes, causing me to unintentionally slip all over the floor if I was not careful enough. However, with all of this, an air of familiarity was brought and it helped ease the feelings of anxiety. It gave me something to look forward to during the long, summer days. For that, I was really grateful. For twelve long hours, I got to stay busy and distract myself from all of those hidden feelings. </p><p>During that summer, I lost about twenty pounds. Every single time I looked in a mirror, I looked smaller than the last. My jawline grew sharper and the circles under my eyes darkened. If anybody around me noticed, they gave no indication. Not that I blamed them. Everybody stuck to themselves in this place. We stayed quiet, only mumbling things to one another when something needed done. Despite this, we all knew what kind of things each other was up to. Numerous people could point me out and tell a stranger what was going on in my life without me even telling them. Vice versa, I could point out the man selling and doing coke in the bathrooms and single out the girl having an affair with a married man. But, out of respect, we all stay quiet. We hang our heads down and nod when we walk past each other-and that’s all there is to it. </p><p>When I came home late at night, I quickly scurried to the shower, eager to rid myself of all of the sweat and smell radiating off of my body. It was almost satisfying, feeling all of the flour being washed from my body. After my shower, I feel refreshed but exhausted. Soon after the shower, I try to eat, although it’s never anything big. A small bowl of soup at the most. Once that is out of the way, I lay down in bed and soon drift off to sleep. </p><p>Each morning, as soon as I first wake up, I make myself a cup of coffee. While it brews, I clean the kitchen, sweeping the cat food off the floor and doing the small amount of dishes in the sink. My parents are long gone, away at work, so I have no need to worry about all of the noise I am making. So, I go about my routine, and even throw a load of laundry in the washer to get it started. I do this few things every single day, but it never gets old to me. Seeing the kitchen sparkling clean makes me feel a bit satisfied and feel like I have some control over something in my life. </p><p>A few minutes later, my coffee pot stops making that whirring noise it always does, signaling that it’s done. I make myself a cup and drink it as I clean the house. I have only a few friends so I don’t expect anybody to call me asking to hang out. Sometimes, I am relieved by this. Other times, I hate that I am so alone. However, when I start feeling this way, it is usually time for me to go to work. Once there, we get busy, and the negative thoughts disappear. </p><p>It’s during one of those busy shifts that I glance over at the makeline and see someone new standing there. Not that this is anything special; we have new people join the crew all the time. They never stay, so I never learn their names. I recognize their face and nod like I do with everybody else. </p><p>She stands there with a bored expression nestled onto her face as she waits for the pizza to slide down to her. I make a note of her face and place it in the back of my head. As soon as she quits, I can forget all about her. Once I do this, I turn back around and begin working again, stocking my area with all of the sauces and with clean utensils. That night is super busy, so I don’t give her a second thought. And when I go home, I forget all about her. The only thing I can remember is a tattoo I saw, though I can’t say who it belonged to.<br/>
The next day I surprisingly have off, so it is just me alone with my thoughts at first. That morning, I wake and go through my usual routine with the cleaning and the coffee. After that, I am lost and do not know what to do. At first, I just lay on the couch and watched random daytime shows. I find myself drifting with my thoughts, so I quickly turn the television off and finish off the rest of my coffee. I rush to my room, get dressed, run a brush through my hair, then leave the house. </p><p>I have no idea where I am going. Driving around town, I quickly remember that there is nothing to do where I am from. That causes me to drive to the city a couple of hours away and locate an art museum. It’s free, so I just meander in and begin looking at my own pace. The pieces that I see are beautiful, and I regret not bringing a sketch pad. I think about asking a random gentleman for a piece of his and ask him if he has a spare pencil. I decide against it, and instead watch him sketch from afar while pretending to admire a sculpture. He is incredible at doing so and makes it look easy. He makes quick, little marks, creating something beautiful in the end. This time, I think about telling him his work looks amazing. Once again, I decide against it and make my way into another section of the museum. </p><p>There are numerous sections, and I work my way through each and every single one of them. The ordeal takes all day which is just fine by me. It distracts me from that tiny voice in the back of my head. By the time I get home, my parents are getting ready to go out. They ask me to tag along and I reluctantly agree. As much as I dislike being with my parents, a night out will keep me distracted. </p><p>We go out and I get to pick where we eat. There’s nothing fancy in town to eat, so I just pick a Mexican restaurant that I think is really good. There’s no complaints from either of my parents, and we go there to eat. Although the dinner is a bit awkward, it’s nothing too bad. Sometimes, I think my parents just don’t know how to reach me. Not that I can complain, I am a hard person to interact with. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m awkward or rude. What makes it even worse is when I try, I make it even worse. So, by now, we’ve both learned to just accept it. </p><p>We barely talk to each other; I focus on the music that is being played and my parents talk to each other about random things. The only times I really talk are to tell the waiter what I want to eat. Other than that, I am silent. Nothing new. </p><p>The dinner takes almost an hour, and by that time, the sky is a dark magenta color, but the sun is still creeping through. My parents suggest we go shopping for a bit just to do something fun. I agree and we are off to the same stores we always go to. Once inside, I separate myself from my parents and look at the clothes though I know I won’t buy anything. I hardly ever buy new clothes. I tend to feel disgusted by everything that I try on. So, just to avoid that feeling altogether, I just avoid buying new clothes. </p><p>A group of girls my age come into the section, plucking clothes off the racks and shelves, and I have the urge to run away from them. I know deep down that they aren’t talking about me; they haven’t even looked my way, but I have a sneaky feeling they hate me. I couldn’t even tell you what their names are, but I feel like they know mine. As they keep searching through the heaps of clothes, my heart starts beating faster and faster and my hands start to tremble slightly. Finally, I can’t handle it anymore and I scurry off to the bedding area. Looking at blankets may make me look odd, but nobody else is over there, so I consider it a victory. </p><p>This is the exact way it is for all of the furniture sections, so I hang around in those areas. I make notes of all of the pieces of furniture I like, but I know I have no room for them. Our house is very small and cramped as it is. My room is the smallest of the bunch, and sometimes it bothers me. However, I know there is nothing I can do, but make it work. So, I say nothing, and admire the furniture and imagine it in an imaginary house owned by me. Sometimes this makes me feel better. </p><p>I amuse myself by doing this for a while; I’m not sure how much time went by exactly. Soon enough, my parents find me and tell me they’re finished. I follow them to the check out lines and we soon head off to another store. And another. By the time my parents decide to head home, the sky has bled into darkness. We arrive home and I head for the shower. Then, it’s off to bed, ready to start my usual routine tomorrow. </p><p>I know I have to help open the restaurant in the morning, so there is hardly any time to do the cleaning I usually do. I try not to let it bother me, but it does throw me off a bit. However, I prepare my coffee, put my uniform on, and head off to work. By the time I walk through the doors, I am already covered in a thin layer of sweat. But that’s to be expected working during the hot summer. </p><p>I walk in and set my stuff down underneath the counter in the oven area as I usually do. I clock in and immediately start getting to work. I prep the makeline completely and that takes an hour for me to do with all of the toppings. As I do this, there are no orders, but honestly, who wants pizza at ten in the morning? </p><p>Nobody bothers me as I work. I can hear my boss talking in the small office in the back. At first, I thought she was on the phone with somebody. Glancing back there, I see two heads, one blonde and one black. I know my boss is the black haired individual , but I can’t name the other. But, it’s also none of my business. Turning back to the trays in front of me, I start to work again. </p><p>By noon, we start to get orders. I work the phones and the ovens. This leaves my boss to the dough and the rest of the makeline to the unknown individual and the drivers who are in and out. In the beginning, there is no need for me to interact with the other individual. However, as business starts increasing, I find myself helping out on the makeline when I have the chance to. I barely interact with her, but she doesn’t seem to mind it. In fact, she seems to prefer this. If she has a question, she looks at the guides pasted to the wall above the makeline. I think we speak to each other once, but that’s it. I mention that I like her tattoos and she mutters a thanks in return. For now, that is our only interaction. </p><p>By the time six’o’clock rolls around, I find myself asking to stay later as I don’t wish to go home even though I’m scheduled off by now. My manager sees no harm in giving me some extra hours, so he gives me a nod and I’m back to work. As I scurry back to my area, I see the girl from earlier. She’s heading outside, presumably to take a smoke break given the pack of cigarettes in her hand. We make eye contact, and despite the fact that she doesn’t look happy, she is not outright glaring. I nod and she nods back. </p><p>Two hours later, I get sent home. On my way out, I sneak a quick glance at her. She’s on the end of the makeline where all of the sides are located and where the cheese station is at. I expect her to be cheesing a pizza or putting in sides. To my surprise, I see her looking right back at me. I give a small wave to be polite and she gives a small one back, still not smiling. I don’t take it personal and walk to my car. </p><p>At home, I take a shower and play with my cats. They always bring a smile to my face. Every single time I see my cream colored cat, I think back to a stray I saw down in Florida. Despite all of my feelings of anxiety, the cat made me feel happy-as if nothing in the world was wrong. I miss that cat a lot. </p><p>I finally crawl into bed around midnight and soon drift off to sleep. </p><p>I wake the next morning around nine and rush to get ready as I have to leave for work around nine thirty. Soon rough, I am leaving the house and arriving at the restaurant. The girl from the day before is there and she is in the back working on prep. I set my stuff down in the usual spot, clock in, and join her. At first, we work in silence, but soon enough we are making small talk. Most of it had to do with the massive amount of tattoos lining the right side of her body which go up to her neck. </p><p>Right after we get prep done, we start to get phone calls and orders popping up on the screen. I go to answer the phones and she goes to make the food. As she walks away, I realize I still don’t know her name. Oh well. It probably doesn’t matter; she’ll most likely leave within a few weeks and somebody new will be here to replace her. </p><p>During the rush, I find myself helping on makeline just like the day before. We hardly spoke to each other as we worked, I simply passed pizzas down to her to finish being topped and that was it. And as it came time for me to go home, I unintentionally found myself waving bye to her. She gave one right back and I went home. How odd. </p><p>The next day I don’t have to open, so I’m able to go through my morning routine. Afterwards, I realize there is nothing else at home to do. So, I grab a book and head off to the pool in our neighborhood. I never go swimming in it, but it’s nice to sit and read. Although my mind occasionally wanders, the sound of kids yelling helps disrupt the intrusive thoughts. I manage to get halfway through the book by the time I need to head back home and start getting ready for work. I’ve also managed to get a nice tan. I needed it. I had hardly been outside since my time in Florida. </p><p>When I get to work, I see the girl standing outside. She has yet to see me, but she stands against the building with a cigarette lit in her lips. I glance at my phone and see that I’m ten minutes early. I’ve got time to talk. </p><p>I hesitantly approached her. “Hey.” </p><p>She glances up, obviously a bit startled, but replies. “Didn’t know you worked today.”</p><p>Although I want to smile, I find myself unable to move my lips. Another reason why I’m so hard to interact with. “She had me come in later, but I stay until close. You open?”</p><p>She shakes her head, her short blonde hair rustling slightly. “Nah, I just got here. She’s having me close too.” </p><p>“It’s real nice at night. There’s hardly anybody that comes in and it’s just free time for us.”</p><p>“Oh?” Her eyebrow quirks in questioning and she takes a long drag off of her cigarette. “How long have you been here?” </p><p>“A year and a half. It’s nice here.” </p><p>“Yeah, you would find it nice,” she replies snarkily, a condescending smile on her face, and for once, I am taken back by her attitude. </p><p>“What do you mean?” </p><p>“I heard Nate deals cocaine. Looks like you buy from him,” she accuses, taking my bony wrist into her hand. </p><p>I quickly yank it back. I have yet to do cocaine, and I doubt I ever will. Or maybe I will, but I haven’t for now. Besides, what makes her think that she knows me like that? Despite being pissed beyond words, I don’t walk away from the situation. </p><p>“I don’t buy from anyone here,” I mumbled, holding my wrist. </p><p>“But do you do coke?” </p><p>Narrowing my eyes, I snap. “No, I don’t do fucking coke.”</p><p>She chuckles and pushes herself off the wall. At her full height, she is a lot taller than me, nearly a foot taller. She looks down at her and I see she has bright green eyes. Those green eyes stare me down until I’m uncomfortable. “We should probably head in. Unless you want to be late.” She takes a calloused hand and rests it on my back, pushing me forward with her. </p><p>The act catches me off guard, but it doesn’t make me uncomfortable, so I move along with it. “I still don’t do coke.” </p><p>“So what the fuck is wrong with you?” </p><p>I pick up on the German accent she has, and though it has nothing to do with the conversation, I comment on it. “You’re German?” </p><p>“You’re avoiding the question.” </p><p>“Yours is a simple yes or no question.” </p><p>I hear her huff, clearly annoyed. “You gonna answer the question or not?” </p><p>“I just don’t like to eat,” I lie. </p><p>Her eyebrows raise again. “What do you mean? You starve yourself.” She pauses momentarily to open the door for me. “You know what? Nevermind, don’t answer that right now. Now’s not the place for that. Go on break around eight. We’ll talk then.” Before I can even answer, she walks away. </p><p>Not seeing the use in arguing with her, I silently agree. The time flies by. Before I know it, four’o’clock’ has turned to six’o’clock. Pizzas are flying out of the oven, and they keep me preoccupied. I work up a small sweat, and soon enough I can feel sweat in every crevice of my body. I attempt to ignore it, though the feeling disgusts me. </p><p>The next time I look at the clock, I see that it’s almost eight. Glancing over at the makeline, I see her looking right back at me. There’s an odd expression on her face-it’s nothing resembling happy, anger, confusion-nothing. I can’t quite place it, but that doesn’t alarm me. I look at the clock then back at her and she cocks her head. </p><p>I look in the direction implied by the gesture and see our manager standing there. <i><b>She wants me to ask for a break. </b></i></p><p>Hesitantly, I approach two people standing in the back doing nothing. I ask them if they can watch the oven and they agree to do so once I explain it’s so I can go on break. Then, I ask my manager for her permission and she grants it. I quickly scurry out of the way, passing her along the way. After leaving the side entrance, I wait for her to join me. She takes a few minutes, but soon enough we are standing together, a pool of smoke accompanies her. </p><p>“I can’t remember what you said earlier-you said you don’t do coke right?” </p><p>I’m irritated that she’s still going on about this, but answer nonetheless. “No, I don’t do coke or any drugs like that.” </p><p>“Like that?”</p><p>“No hard drugs.” </p><p>“So why do you look like shit all the time?” </p><p>“Not one for compliments huh?”</p><p>“Just answer my question.”</p><p>Shrugging, “I just don’t like to eat, I already told you.”</p><p>“So, you starve yourself?” </p><p>“Not intentionally.” </p><p>She cackles and I’m pissed. “You’re fucking sad to talk to, you know that?” </p><p>“What’s so funny about it?” </p><p>“Nothing’s funny about it,” immediately, she straightens up, but the smile lingers, “So, you’re sad?” </p><p>“I guess?” </p><p>“You wanna try something? Might make you feel better,” she offers. </p><p>I have a hunch of what she is referring to, but I play dumb. “What?” </p><p>“Got some weed in my car. Do you wanna smoke after you get off?”</p><p>The offer is tempting; it’s been a while since I’ve smoked-four months to be exact. But there’s something that lingers in the back of my head. It’s that same feeling I had back in Florida. “What’s your name?”</p><p>For a moment, her eyes narrow in confusion before she answers. “Zorin.” </p><p>Zorin. I like that name. It’s different, and it just rolls off of your tongue. “Did your dad want a boy?” </p><p>“My dad wanted a lot of things,” she answers bluntly, and I take the hint to drop the subject. </p><p>“Yeah.” I answer the question from before, hoping to change the atmosphere I unintentionally created. </p><p>Looking pleased once again, she spits out her cigarette and puts it out with her foot. I cringe, hating littering, but don’t vocally say anything. “We better get back before they yell at us.” She holds the side door open for me, then pauses once we’re both inside. “What’s your name?” </p><p>I honestly hate saying my name. “Clara.” </p><p>She nods then heads off without another word. Taking a hint, I do the same. We both go back to our usual spots and don’t speak another word to each other for the rest of the night. We only communicate through nods. Despite that odd feeling in the pit of my stomach, I find myself glancing at the clock numerous times throughout the shift, hoping the time would go faster.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry, it's been a while since I've updated any of my stories. I was able to bust this out so I'm updating this first. Also, some possibly triggering things are mentioned such as eating disorders and anxiety. Nothing too bad, but did want to mention it. Do enjoy :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Given how busy we were, this is exactly what happened. The hands on the clock seemed to move faster and faster with each glance at it. When midnight rolled around, I found myself excited-more excited than I had been in a while. Butterflies were fluttering in my stomach, and I wondered just how long it had been since I’d had that feeling. It’s been years at least. </p><p>I haven’t had any real relationships throughout the years; it’s hard to do so with someone like me. The furthest I get is some mild flirting with someone that catches my interest, and after that, it dissipates into nothing. Always disappointing, but never a surprise, I try to ignore it and move along with my life. </p><p>I’m in the midst of my own thoughts when I feel someone walking right behind me. Startled, I pause and jump to see who’s behind me. A hand rubs against the top of my clothed thighs and softly pinches. Gasping, I turn to meet Zorin who stands there with a lazy smirk on her face. </p><p>“I was just coming to tell you that I threw something extra in the oven for myself. Didn’t want you to be surprised when it came out,” she explains, taking a step back. </p><p>The butterflies are still fluttering, but they’re no longer in my stomach. Still stunned, I find myself unable to respond to her and she walks away, amused. When I finally gather myself, I grab a box for her food and wait for it to come out while she cleans her station. A few minutes later, the food comes out and I see she’s made herself some buffalo chicken sandwich. I cut it and place it on the warmers for her to eat when she’s done. </p><p>Afterwards, I begin to clean the oven area which is covered with burnt crumbs, flours, and a combination of other things. I wipe everything down, including the oven itself, stock everything, and sweep the area clean. The entire debacle takes nearly an hour to do so, and when I’m finished, I see that Zorin’s food is still sitting in the same spot as before. </p><p>Eyebrows furrowing, I take the box and wander around the restaurant trying to find her. I soon see her coming from one of the walk-ins in the back of the restaurant, and approach her. “Hey, you never ate your food.” </p><p>“Oh, I guess I didn’t, but I’m not that hungry right now,” she takes the box from my hand, “I think I’m only gonna eat half of it.” </p><p>“Enjoy.” </p><p>“Nah, come over here. No use in wasting food-you eat the other half. You like this right?” She takes a hold of my hand and directs me to the small office. She sits down in the computer chair back there and I sit down in one of the stiff wooden chairs back there. Opening the box, she hands half of the messy sandwich to me to which I hesitantly grab. “Go ahead, I’m not gonna eat all of this. I was a lot more hungry before.” </p><p>Immediately, she digs in while I sit there, switching between watching her eat and looking at my half. Twice, I go to take a bite, but I never actually do so, always stopping myself. I think Zorin’s watching me out of the corner of her eyes, but she doesn’t say anything until after she finishes eating. </p><p>“You not hungry right now?” </p><p>“Uh no,” the answer’s awkward but it seems to suffice as Zorin grabs the sandwich and puts it back in the box. </p><p>“Just wait ‘til we smoke later. That shit gives you a major case of the munchies,” Zorin says, standing up. </p><p>I inwardly cringe, but don’t comment on that. “Are you almost done with your section? I only have to stock the front of the store and that’s it.” </p><p>She nods. “I just have to put everything back in that front walk-in, and then clean the back,” she glances at the clock which reads as one in the morning, “My car’s the black mustang out there, and the keys are sitting right here. If I’m not done by closing time, go ahead and start my car for me, and I’ll shut everything down.” </p><p>“A mustang? Where’d you get the money for that?” </p><p>“It’s not that nice,” she mumbles then moves past me. </p><p>Grunting, I watch her disappear to the front of the store, then I go to finish my chores. I stack the boxes and give the front counters one last wipe down. I also make a last minute choice to clean the windows and stock the pepsi coolers. By the time I’m done, I see that Zorin is still sweeping the makeline area, so I grab her keys and clock out and start her car for her. Although she claims that her car isn’t that nice, I make several quick observations that make her car far better than mine. </p><p>It’s old, but still had the sleekness of a brand new car. I see the convertible top even in the darkness, and for a moment, I think about trying it out. Instead, I fidget with other controls in the car and look through her CDs. I find a lot of rock CDs, all a combination of punk, alternative, heavy, etc. There’s also some rap, so I pluck one at random and throw it in the player and wait for her to join me. </p><p>It takes over twenty minutes, but I soon see her exit the side entrance, locking the door behind her. She briskly walks to the driver side door and soon enough she is instructing me to get the blunt from the compartment box while she texts someone.  After following her instructions, I sit there patiently, glancing over at her fingertips. </p><p>I desperately want to know who she is talking to, but I try not to make it obvious. The only thing I can see is a few short messages and a name that starts with an ‘R’. Before I can see anything else, her screen goes black and she puts her phone in one of the cupholders. “You cool with going somewhere else? I don’t like just smoking here.”</p><p>I glance over at my own car sitting in the front half of the parking lot. “Can you bring me back after?” </p><p>She nods. “Unless you want to spend the night.” </p><p>“We’re going to your house to smoke?” </p><p>“You got a better spot in mind?”</p><p>“No…” </p><p>“To my place we go,” she mutters, but before she starts driving, she hands me a box. I look down and see that it’s the sandwich. Oh, here we go again. </p><p>We drive in silence save for the music playing until a certain song comes on. Zorin, clearly annoyed, pushes the skip button and mumbles, “I fucking hate that song.” </p><p>I ignore her complaints. “How long have you lived here?” </p><p>I see her green eyes flicker over to me before they go back to the road. “Not a long time. Only a couple of months.”</p><p>“Why’d you move here?” </p><p>“You’re awful nosy,” she remarks. </p><p>“That makes the both of us.” </p><p>I think she chuckles. “Just wanted a change in scenery.” </p><p>I know it’s a lie. Who the hell comes here to get some change in their life? “You thought this was the best place to come for that?” </p><p>“I had a hunch and didn’t want to live in a city where the cost of living is so damn high,” Zorin explains, and I soon see that we’re driving away from the downtown area. My stomach clenches and I grow nervous seeing the trees signaling the country. Zorin must sense my unease, “Sorry, I should’ve mentioned that I live a little bit out there.” </p><p>I think about asking her about her family, but decide not to. She seems rather tense when talking about them. Instead, I talk about my dog. “You have pets? I have a dog named Tinkerbell.” </p><p>Her eyes squinch at the sudden change in conversation, but she still answers. “Yeah, I’ve got a Doberman. And Tinkerbell? Did you name her when you were fucking five?” </p><p>Oddly, I find myself giggling. The act catches both of us off guard, and I quickly stop myself and regain my composure. Awkwardly, “Uh, yeah, we’ve had her for a while.” </p><p>“How old are you now?” </p><p>“Eightteen.” </p><p>Zorin scoffs, “And you look ten years older with all of your issues.” </p><p>“I don’t think so.” </p><p>“You don’t?” Zorin asks as we turn into a driveway. As we drive further up the long driveway, I see a quite large house, or larger than I was expecting. </p><p>“I thought you were worried about money?” </p><p>“I never said I was worried about money. I just said I didn’t like the cost of living in the city,” she says as she puts the car into park and shuts it off. “Home sweet home.”</p><p>Grunting, I shimmy out of the car and turn to wait for her. She hops up to the front door, but then looks back at me. “You got the blunt right?” </p><p>“No, I threw it out on the way here.” </p><p>“Rude, sarcastic, and mean. How lucky am I?” Zorin says with a sarcastic tint to her voice. She unlocks the door and holds it open for me. Once inside, I am pleasantly surprised to see how clean it is and to see how many plants there are. I can count at least seven within five seconds of entering the house, and as she turns on the lights, I can see more. </p><p>Looking at one hanging from the ceiling, I think back to those palm trees. Although it’s a ridiculous idea, I ask her, “You think you could have a palm tree? A small one?” </p><p>“It’d have to be fucking small or warmer here.” </p><p>“Yeah, but I think you could make it work.” </p><p>A quick pause then, “Maybe, but I don’t think I’m going to try anytime soon.” She begins to fidget with a plant sitting in her small kitchen. “I think I’ll stick to these small ones. They’re easier to take care of.” </p><p>I begin to meander through her house; it’s a lot different than what I was expecting. I had imagined a small, dirty apartment the entire way here. Now that I was actually inside, I was in shock. “How many plants do you have?” I spot another three or four. </p><p>“Uh, I don’t know,” Zorin says as she walks up to me. “Come on, let’s go to my room.” </p><p>She leads me upstairs and we enter her room. It’s small compared to the rest of the house but seems cozy nonetheless. There’s a small bed pushed up against the right corner of the room and a mahogany desk sitting on the opposite wall. There’s not a whole lot to the desk besides a pile of papers and a small statue in the top left corner. I can’t quite make out just what, or rather who it’s supposed to be. The man looks like a viking at first glance, and I choose to leave it at that, not bothering to ask questions. </p><p>She gestures to her bed and I sit on the side awkwardly. While she’s fidgeting with something, I quickly remember about her mentioning a dog. “Where is he?” </p><p>Zorin takes the roach from my hand. “Huh? Who?” </p><p>“The dog.” </p><p>“Oh...shit I don’t know. He’s probably asleep somewhere,” she finally lights it and takes one long drag off of it. Once she’s taken the first hit, she hands it to me. </p><p>I take it from her. Although I am still thinking about the dog, I take my first hit. Afterwards, I start coughing, and Zorin laughs at me. She takes the blunt from me again and takes another hit, then hands it right back. I take my turn with it, and we continue like that until the roach has shrunk a considerable amount. Once there’s nothing more left to it, Zorin pitches it and takes a spot on the bed beside me. For several, long moments we don’t speak-simply basking in the silence. She’s laying on her back with her feet still touching the floor. Her eyes are stuck to the ceiling, and she looks puzzled. However, before I can say anything, she breaks the silence. </p><p>“How soon do you want to go home?” </p><p>“Trying to get rid of me already?”</p><p>She snickers. “Maybe.” </p><p>“You don’t seem like you should be driving for a while.” </p><p>“You’re probably right. Plug did good on this batch.” </p><p>“He sure did.” </p><p>After that it’s silent for a few more minutes. We’re both lost in our own thoughts. I’m thinking about the stuffed toy I have of Tigger back at home, shoved deep down in my small closet. I think of how I used to have to sleep with him every single night to fall asleep; I even cried when my dad threatened to throw it away. Looking back at the memory, I don’t know why I was so distraught at the thought of losing the stuffed animal. I had been twelve at the time, and was crying over stuffed animals. How odd. </p><p>I don’t really know how much time passes, but it must have been a long time because my phone soon buzzes. Plucking it from my pocket, I see that I have a text from my mom: “Hey, you coming home soon? Did it get really busy tonight?” </p><p>I give her a quick but satisfactory reply: “Yeah, sorry. I was meaning to text you to let you know. I’ll be home in a bit.” </p><p>She says ok and I love you and I turn to Zorin. She’s still staring at the ceiling and there’s that same expression on her face. She looks confused but upset, and she’s surprised when I touch her arm. </p><p>“I think I need to head home now.” </p><p>Grunting, she sits up and glances at her own phone. “Shit, yeah. Sorry, didn’t realize that much time had passed.” </p><p>I don’t really respond to that other than reassuring her that it is no big deal. We both get up and leave the room. As we exit the house, we finally come across her dog who seems happy to see us. Zorin pats his head and I give him some attention before we leave. Once we’re in the car, I find myself drifting off, but I manage to hold off until we make it back to my car in the parking lot at work. Once there, Zorin parks her car and we both exit the car. </p><p>We both walk over to my car and stand next to each other awkwardly before she speaks first. “You never ate the rest of that sandwich.” </p><p>“Huh? Oh, I don’t like buffalo sauce.” </p><p>“But you are going to eat, yeah?” </p><p>“When I get home.” </p><p>“You know people die from that shit right?” </p><p>“I know I know,” I mumble, turning to open my door, “I’ll grab something when I get home.” </p><p>Zorin rolls her eyes. “Whatever you say, liar.”</p><p>I grunt. “See ya around, Zorin.” </p><p>“Hm? Oh yeah, definitely.” </p><p>We both stare at each other for a couple of seconds before Zorin hits my car door softly. “Let me know if you wanna smoke again. Your scrawny ass could use some weed and food.” </p><p>Snorting, I sit in my car. “I think I look just fine.”</p><p>“Never said you didn’t, but how do you feel?” </p><p>“What do you mean? I feel stoned.”</p><p>“That’s not what I mean. How do you feel usually?” </p><p>“Like on a daily basis?” I ask, turning slightly to turn my car on and to turn the music down. “I feel weird. Like something’s not right.” </p><p>“Yeah, you should definitely get that looked at. Should also get somebody to take care of that anorexia thing you’ve got going on,” Zorin sneers, and even though the statement irritates me to no end, I find myself silently agreeing with her. It had been months, no years since I had been considered ‘healthy’. Seeing somebody could honestly do me good. </p><p>With that in consideration, I don’t exactly refuse Zorin’s idea, but I have no intent on actually following it. “Maybe one day.”</p><p>“So you do admit something’s wrong?” </p><p>“If I say yes, can I get going? My mom’s already throwing a fit with how late I am,” I look towards the clock in my car and see that the time reads a quarter til two. </p><p>“Ah, I keep forgetting about that,” Zorin mumbles, and she scratches the back of her head. “I’ll see you around.” Finally, she stands up straight and shuts my door for me and I watch her get back into her car. She refuses to leave before I do, so I’m the first to pull out of the parking lot, her following closely behind me. </p><p>As we pull out, I see that she hops into the lane next to me and then zooms right past me, her car making small revving noises as she does this. Not wanting to be outdone, I accelerate to catch up to her, my old Cobalt catching up to her Mustang quickly. Her windows are tinted, so I’m unable to see her, but I’m sure she’s laughing. She accelerates again, racing forward quite a bit before she slows down a bit, waiting for me to catch up. </p><p>The short ride back home goes like this until we have to go our own ways. As I’m finally alone heading home, I find my thoughts drifting. One minute, I’m thinking about how funny my body feels and then the next I’m remembering that I’m actually driving and have to pay attention to the road at hand. As I’m pulling into my neighborhood, I hear my stomach growl. I cringe inwardly. We had just gone out to eat the other night; I couldn’t eat again so soon. </p><p>I reluctantly walk through the front door of our small house and my mom peers at me from over the love seat in our living room. If she’s upset at how late I’ve stayed out, she doesn’t make it obvious. Instead, she asks me about my night and asks me if I’ve had the chance to eat dinner. Lying, I say that I had some chicken at work, and go to take a shower. The last thing my mom says to me is good night and then she heads to bed herself for the night. </p><p>My shower is long, and I find myself leaning against the wall a lot. Like the car ride, my thoughts are everywhere. Although there is nothing I really have to do in my life, I feel myself growing nervous; that same feeling I had down in Florida, like something horrible was coming, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. By the end of the shower, I am regretting ever having taken Zorin up on her offer to smoke some weed; I always get so paranoid when I’m high. </p><p>In my room, raspy meowing catches my attention, and at my feet, I see my cat Smokey. He’s fat and old, but he’s one of the few things in my life that makes me smile. Bending over, I give him some chin scratches to which he eagerly accepts, becoming disappointed when I take my hand away. He jumps on my bed and lays on the left pillow as he usually does at nighttime, and I put on a pair of shorts and a large hoodie and lay on the right side of the bed. I fell asleep that night while watching a movie that was playing on my TV.</p><p>The next morning, I wake to a text from my boss who is asking me to close instead of open. I agree and she thanks me. Although slightly disappointed that I don’t have a reason to leave the house yet, I try to think of other things to do. I decide to start with some coffee; my head tends to hurt throughout the day if I don’t start my day off with a cup of it. (Caffeine addiction much?) </p><p>A few cats greet me as I walk out of my room. Smokey, walks out of the room with me, having slept in my room all night and follows me to the kitchen. Two others, Lucky and Bug follow along, wanting to see what I’ll do. They sit at my feet as I start the coffee pot, and I take a hint and feed them some treats. </p><p>The rest of my day goes just as slow as that morning. Growing bored around eleven, I leave the house and impulsively go to a Menards about ten minutes away and buy some seeds and a couple of pots. Once back home, I paint the pots as sloppy copies of famous artists and their pieces such as Hokusai and Van Gogh. Once satisfied with how the pots look, I place dirt in the pots and the seeds within. Doing all of this keeps me busy until it is time for me to go to work. </p><p>I pull up about ten minutes early and begin making my way to the front entrance when a familiar glint catches my eye. Zorin’s black mustang is parked on the side and is still running. I think about just heading inside, but something pulls me towards her car, and I soon find myself opening the passenger side door, much to Zorin’s surprise. </p><p>As I make myself comfortable, I see a blunt in her mouth. “Do you ever get tired of smoking?” </p><p>“What’s wrong?” she snarkily asks back, “You can’t handle it?”</p><p>“No, I can’t,” I openly admit, “How’s the dog?” </p><p>“What’s your fucking obsession with my dog? He’s fine,” Zorin says, offering me the blunt. </p><p>I decline, remembering my miniature meltdown in the shower the night before. “I’m good. What’s his name?” </p><p>Zorin groans slowly, “Ah, why so worried about the dog? His name’s Apollo.”</p><p>“That’s kind of basic, Zorin.”</p><p>“Oh fuck off and get out. We need to head in.”</p><p>We both get out of her car and head in. She walks past me so she can hold the door open. I pass by her and into the building, feeling her hand brush past my backside as I do so. Then as we are walking down the narrow corridor in the back of the building, Zorin’s hand slips between my thighs briefly before disappearing. Though brief, the act has me blushing and my thighs squeeze together for a split moment. </p><p>Zorin grins. “Gotta get to work, talk to ya later, loser,” then walks past me to clock in and go to her area. </p><p>Smiling softly at her back, I clock in as well. Oh, how I couldn’t wait for our break.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The entire night I am utterly distracted. Thoughts in disarray, I find myself thinking about the most useless things before I realize I am talking outloud to myself. Each time I catch myself, I quickly shut up and stop smiling; I can’t have anyone thinking I am crazy. That’s what I would be considered if anyone were paying attention. Thankfully, the only person who spares me a second glance is Zorin. </p><p>Sadly, our break never comes though I was looking forward to it. Times were so backed up it was ridiculous and I was running all three ovens by six’o’clock that night. Being forced to work non-stop for a few hours, I was finally glad when things cooled down and I was able to just breathe. </p><p>Now, in times like these, everybody disappeared. People flocked to the back of the restaurant, preparing to step outside on the side for a few minutes. Their activities ranged from just bullshitting around to doing drugs. Honestly, I couldn’t care less with what they did, especially now. </p><p>When it finally gets like this at nearly eleven, I try to find Zorin. She’s nowhere to be found in the restaurant, or at least from what I can tell. Figuring she headed outside with the others, I walk to the back office, deflated, and begin to scroll through my phone. I’m scrolling through Twitter when something hard hits me in the head. </p><p>Startled, I drop my phone and jump up from the chair to see Zorin’s grinning face. “Wouldn’t take you much for a Twitter person-they’re usually a lot more funny.” </p><p>“Ah, I like looking through the threads. They’re pretty funny,” I answer, picking up my phone. </p><p>“Come out to my car with me,” she orders and begins walking away without giving me the choice to decline. </p><p>Walking briskly, I catch up with her and together, we walk out to her car. I think I see a few people pause momentarily to watch us and whisper something in their circle before they go back to whatever it is that they’re doing. As we hop into her car, I’m half expecting her to offer me a blunt as that’s all she seems to do. Instead, she puts a CD in and we just listen to music. It’s a lot more mellow than what I was expecting, but I’m not complaining. </p><p>While in the car, she does smoke, but this time it’s a cigarette. She’s leaned back, thinking about something I don’t know about. Right next to her, I fidget endlessly and pick at the skin on my thumbs. It’s a nervous habit I’ve always had; I think I got it from my dad, he does the exact same thing. They’re constantly swollen and bleeding, and it’s something I’ve grown self conscious of over the years, but I can’t seem to stop no matter how hard I try. </p><p>In fact, that’s what I find myself doing in her car, biting my fingers bloody. By the time I realize I’m doing it, I can’t stop. I just keep on doing it until Zorin finally glances over at me with a mildly confused yet disgusted look on her face. </p><p>“Hey, your bleeding,” she mumbles, and despite sounding irritated and looking at me with a weird look on her face, digs into the middle compartment and pulls out a band-aid from within. </p><p>“I wouldn’t have taken you for somebody who carries band-aids,” I comment. </p><p>She snickers at me, “I keep them on my in case a crazy bitch tries to chew her fingers off. Why do you do that honestly?” </p><p>“Just a habit I’ve always had,” I answer, slightly embarrassed. </p><p>She must see the faint red dusting my cheeks, because she chooses not to say anymore about the topic. I wrap the band-aid around my abused finger and try to find other ways to fidget. Zorin quickly catches on to my awkwardness and tries to make me feel better. </p><p>“Always so jittery,” she says, almost done with her cigarette. </p><p>“I’m just a jittery person.” </p><p>“That’s not normal.” </p><p>“Oh? What is?” </p><p>Zorin holds her hand out. “See how my hand doesn’t shake at all? It’s perfectly steady. Now hold yours out.” </p><p>I hold my hand out right beside hers and look at the complete difference between the two. While her hand is as steady as a jetline, mine shakes and trembles, never able to stay still for more than a couple of seconds. </p><p>“Just a little jittery,” I reason. </p><p>“A little?” she asks, laughing. </p><p>“Yeah,” I agree, quietly laughing with her, “Just a little.” </p><p>“Ahhh,” she somewhat groans this out, “We need to get back inside and start cleaning. Most of those pricks are already back inside.” </p><p>Looking out the window, I see that the small crowd from earlier is nothing more than one person now. He stands alone, a cigarette hanging out of his thin lips. I can’t recognize the man, but he wears the same uniform we do. He looks old, but maybe it’s just the years of drugs taking a toll on him. He looks out onto the busy street with a tired look on his face, smoking his cigarette as he does so. I watch him smoke the rest of it, flick it out into the small parking lot on the side, and slowly go back inside. </p><p>It’s only when he goes back inside that we get out of her car. Surprisingly, Zorin takes the cigarette she was smoking and tosses it into a trash can on our way in. I give her a weird look as she does and she replies with, “You’ve always got this weird look when people put trash on the ground. I’m guessing you’re a tree-hugger.” </p><p>“I just care about the environment,” I mutter. </p><p>“Tree-hugger is a funnier thing to say,” Zorin says and holds the door open for me. </p><p>Despite the fact that I know she is mocking me, I can’t help the large smile that creeps onto my face. I think she sees it too, but chooses not to say anything. We both know what we’re thinking. </p><p>As we’re walking through the back area, she quickly stops me and pulls me aside so nobody can see us. </p><p>“What?” I ask a bit rudely, though the warmth from her hands on my shoulders feels nice. </p><p>“Don’t give me an attitude, first of all, and second of all, do you want to come over tonight? I’ve got some clothes I think would fit you,” she says. </p><p>“You think you could tolerate me for more than a few hours?” </p><p>She snorts. “Yeah, I think I’ll manage no matter how weird you are.” </p><p>“I’m not that weird.” </p><p>Gesturing to my hand, she raises her brow, “You just gnawed your damn thumb off in my car.”</p><p>“I said ‘that’ weird. I never said I wasn’t weird.” </p><p>“Whatever, dumbass. Do you want to come or not?” </p><p>“Yes. I want to come.”</p><p>“Alright. I’ll drive, you can just hop in my car when we get off. I’ll drop you back off in the morning.” </p><p>“Alrighty,” is the last thing I say before we go our separate ways. </p><p>She goes back to doing whatever it is that she does, and I do the same. Plucking my phone from under the counter, I quickly ask my mom about the plans though I leave out who the friend exactly is. I don’t think she really cares honestly; I think my mom is just happy I’ve made a friend really. It’s a rare occasion I stay over at another person’s house, hell, it’s a big deal if I even leave the house other than to work. </p><p>She quickly responds with something along the lines of: “Okay! Have fun kiddo!” </p><p>My mother is so easy to please, or maybe she just wants to get rid of me for the night. Either way, it’s good news for me. </p><p>With that out of the way, I start cleaning my station. Though it’s not exactly time to close yet, not a whole lot is going to be happening. We’ll be lucky to get one order every half-hour. So, I start cleaning, grabbing a small container and filling it with sanitizer water. I wipe down my station, making sure to scrub every spot. </p><p>I think the others have grabbed themselves something to eat. A quick glance back tells me I am correct. They stand around a large prep table we have in the back, munching on random bits of food and talking loudly. Usually, they keep to themselves, however tonight they are boisterous and funny. I can hear them making jokes and poking fun at each other. I think this is because of the weed; they’re never like this after all. </p><p>However, I ignore them and keep cleaning. By the time I’m finally done cleaning, a good forty-five minutes has passed and now the clock sits at around midnight. Groaning silently, I realize that I’m still stuck here for another hour. Although I love the money, I hate it in times like this. I can smell all of the food the others have made, and my stomach growls. </p><p>It’s been a bit since I’ve last eaten, but I don’t think I should have anything just yet. After all, that dinner a few nights ago really put me back. I don’t think it’s the right time to eat yet. I can’t keep doing this to myself. I’m always doing so good, and then I do horrible for one day and put myself back in square one. </p><p>As I am thinking, I begin to restock the front area. It’s not a really important job, but it’s something to occupy my mind. I am bringing up the second to last stack of boxes I need when Zorin stops me. </p><p>“Hey, you hungry?”</p><p>“No, not really,” I lie. </p><p>“Tch, I know you’re starving. You look like you haven’t eaten in days. I’m making us food and you’re going to get a bit. It’ll be easier for you to just tell me what you like.” </p><p>Rolling my eyes, I reiterate, “I’m not hungry. There’s no use in wasting food.” </p><p>“You’re eating,” Zorin repeats, taking a step closer. </p><p>“No I’m not.” </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“I don’t want to eat.” </p><p>“I know you don’t want to, but you need to.” </p><p>Pondering the thought for a moment, I eventually give in. My stomach feels hollow and I am craving so many different foods-I can feel my mouth salivating like a dog. </p><p>“Fine.” </p><p>“Good, now what do you want to eat? I’ll order something for us or I’ll make you something here,” Zorin asks. </p><p>“I don’t have mo-”</p><p>“Don’t worry about that. If you don’t want the food from here, I’ll pay for yours,” she interrupts. </p><p>For a minute, my cheeks go beat red. I’m not sure if it’s because of the lack of space between us or if it’s because I don’t know how to respond to this type of interaction. </p><p>Unable to swallow or really formulate a thought, I hastily throw out the idea of McDonald’s. I know fast food is so disgusting, but it’s a comfort food for me. I can recall going there during the lunch period with my best friend at the time and dipping the french fries in the milkshakes. The idea of eating a chicken sandwich makes my stomach growl even louder. </p><p>Despite the fact that I don’t think Zorin seems to be a big fast food eater, she nods. “Fine, I’ll take you there on the way back.”</p><p>Then, she leaves me be until it’s closing time. Scrambling, we do last minute cleaning, fix some things up, and lock up the doors. Well, Zorin does with me standing right next to her awkwardly as she does so. I’m a bit confused as to how she got the keys despite not being a manager, but I push this off to the side and think about the food I am about to eat. </p><p>Straightening up, Zorin turns to me and cocks her head over to her car. “Go get in and start it,” she orders, handing the keys to me, “I need to smoke before we go. You don’t seem to like the smoke too much.” </p><p>I’ve never even made a face while she smoked, but somehow she knows. She knows I absolutely despise the smell of cigarette smoke. Taking the keys, I do as ordered and watch her smoke from inside the car. She leans up against a wall on the side and smokes the cigarette. When she’s done, she flicks it in the trash can nearby and gets in the car. </p><p>At first the silence is awkward, but soon it’s nice and comforting. I find my head leaning against the cool window and for once my hands aren’t outright shaking. My index finger is stroking my thumb, but I don’t pick at it, instead opting to feel the rough patches. My drifting thoughts are interrupted when Zorin starts talking to me. </p><p>At first, she just sounds like a jumble of words. That is until I finally figure out she’s asking me what I want to eat. I answer her and she rattles it off to whoever is taking our order. Then she adds on something else, probably for herself. I don’t really pay attention to just what she gets, whatever it is, it’s a large. </p><p>Soon enough, we’re paying, or she’s paying for the food and handing a bag over to me. Immediately, I get a strong whiff of the food and my mouth waters. I try to not let my excitement show, and simply hold onto the bag while she drives.</p><p>It’s not a long drive, but it’s certainly a peaceful one. When she puts the car into park, I get out, slowly as to not drop the large bag in my arms. She grabs the drinks and walks ahead of me to get the door and hold it open for me. </p><p>As I walk into the house, her dog greets us. I move out of Zorin’s way so she can walk into the house and set the bags down on her counter. Kneeling, I begin to pet her dog who seems eager to see us with the way his stub of a tail wags. After a while, he seems to only be sniffing my hands, and I take that as a sign that he isn’t interested in me, only the food. Standing, I see Zorin plucking two plates from her cabinets. </p><p>I look down at Apollo, and he looks as happy as I do to see the food. When I look back up, Zorin is holding a plate out for me, so I take it. As soon as I take the plate, I see that there is more food on here than what I asked for. In addition to a chicken sandwich, there are also chicken strips and I think two large orders of fries. The food is stacked on my plate so high. </p><p>“What all did you get?” I ask her. </p><p>“Huh? Oh, I couldn’t remember what you asked for, so I just got some of everything,” she answers, though I can tell she’s lying as she rummages through the bag for her own food. “You can go sit in the living room. The TV remote should be in there somewhere, you can pick something out.”</p><p>Hesitantly, I walk into the large living room and am amazed at what I see. I’m in such shock that I momentarily forget that I’m holding food, a drink, and a bottle of ranch in my arms. Slowly, I put them down on the table in the conversation pit in the middle of the room. True to her word, there is a TV remote sitting on the table as well. </p><p>I begin to flicker through the channels, but there’s honestly nothing on to watch. That, and I’m not much of a TV watcher to be honest. Typically, I lose interest in whatever is on within minutes. So, I just click on some reruns of Family Guy and call it good enough. </p><p>Zorin soon joins me with her food and Apollo comes trotting in the room as well. Giving him an irritated look, she swats at him. “Ah, fuck off, dog.” </p><p>He does the exact opposite, and instead scoots closer. She only shakes her head and tosses a fry at him. He catches it as it flies in the air, and continues to beg. “Fucking moocher.” Looking over at me, she points at my food, “You gonna eat? You even got some ranch to go with your chicken and fries.” </p><p>“I got wrapped up in the show,” I halfway lied. The show isn’t too elaborate, but it is entertaining. </p><p>Looking down, I fixate on the pile of food before me, and I pick up a small handful of fries, smother them in ranch, and eat them. To say the food tastes good is an understatement. I know it’s gross fast food that’s got all sorts of nonsense in it, but it tastes like a five star gourmet meal right about now. </p><p>Grabbing another handful of fries, I shovel them in my mouth. I know my eating looks so disgusting right now, but Zorin doesn’t really say anything, so I don’t stop. I just dig right into my chicken sandwich and relish in the taste. </p><p>After practically inhaling my sandwich, my stomach’s sending signals that it’s probably time to stop eating. Ignoring it, I begin to eat the chicken strips. As I do so, Zorin cackles besides me. </p><p>“So, you were hungry?”</p><p>“Yeah,” I say, giggling with a mouth full of food, “I was a little bit.”</p><p>“A little bit?” she asks. </p><p>“Yeah, just a little bit,” I say, eating another chicken strip and holding another out to her. </p><p>Smirking, she takes it, “You need to wipe your mouth. You look like a kid eating.” </p><p>“What’s the point, I’m not done eating yet.”</p><p>She doesn’t really respond, but I can still see her smiling. For once, I am completely at ease, and the thought of eating food doesn’t make me nervous. It’s only when I’ve completely cleared my plate that I stop eating. I am completely stuffed, and only regret eating the food because it makes me feel sick. </p><p>I put my plate on the table and gesture for Apollo to come over. He comes over, sniffing my plate along the way. As I’m petting him, I see Zorin put her plate on top of mine and momentarily leave, disappearing in the kitchen. When she comes back, she sits back down next to me, but I feel like she’s gotten a couple of inches closer. Apollo sits between us or tries to. Given how big he is, it’s a tight fit. But he manages with his ass on Zorin and his slobbery mouth right next to my face. </p><p>“Lard ass,” she mumbles and scoots him off of her. Taking the hint, he hops off of the seat and instead sits next to me on the other side. </p><p>I laugh softly at the comment and lean back, realizing how tired I am. A quick glance at the clock tells me it’s grown into the early morning hours. Despite my eyelids growing heavier with each second, I don’t want to fall asleep. Sadly, I find myself drifting off, leaning against Zorin in the process. </p><p>Laughing, she pokes fun at me. “I thought of you as a night owl.”</p><p>“I usually go to bed right after taking a shower,” I mumble, still leaning against her. </p><p>“Hm,” Zorin takes my chin in her calloused hand, snapping me right awake, “Do you bite at your lips?” </p><p>I am so confused at the sudden question, but answer her regardless. “Yeah?” </p><p>“Yeah, they look like shit and they’re chapped as shit,” she retorts. </p><p>“Why were you looking at my lips anyways? You want a kiss?” I tease. </p><p>Scoffing, she closes the distance between us and kisses me. I’m pleasantly surprised at how gentle she is given her hard exterior. I softly push her back and she moves so that she is leaning against the back of the pit. Quickly straddling her, I try to take the lead, but she doesn’t budge, instead wanting to keep the lead from underneath me. </p><p>“Little shithead,” she mumbles when we finally part. </p><p>“You’re the one that started it,” I remind her. </p><p>“I didn’t see you complaining,” she observes. </p><p>“That’s because I wasn’t.” </p><p>Zorin’s hands are creeping up my shirt, but before it goes too far, she wrinkles her nose. “Ugh, you smell like pizza.” </p><p>I begin to laugh as she takes her hands from out of my shirt. She softly pushes me off of her, and I roll off. “What’s wrong? Is it a turn off?” </p><p>“Just a little,” she states, “Let’s go take a shower. We both smell like shit.”</p><p>“What makes you think I want to take a shower with you?” </p><p>“Oh fuck off,” Zorin says grinning, “Come on.” </p><p>Getting up, I follow her up the stairs. First, she stops in her room and we find something for me to wear. Then, she grabs a couple of towels for us and we head into the bathroom. </p><p>Like the rest of the house, it is large and nice. There is a large standing shower and numerous containers on a caddy. We peel our sweaty clothes off and we both step into the shower which has warm water coming out. </p><p>At first it’s a bit awkward, but soon enough we are joking like we were in the living room. I find myself staring at the muscles she has numerous times. Whether she catches this or not, I do not know, but I think it was really hard to miss. I didn’t exactly try to hide it. Each time she turned her attention away from me, I would sneak glances at her back muscles or her large forearm. </p><p>We start flinging soap at each other at some point. I can’t really remember what led us to doing this, but we start it nonetheless. We throw huge globs of soap at each other, laughing loudly as we do so. </p><p>Finally, the water grows cold and we put an end to our playful fighting. Zorin steps out before me and before I could grab my towel, she snatches it up. </p><p>“Hey!” </p><p>“C’mon loser!” she says, running into the hallway. </p><p>“I’m gonna slip and fall!” I protest, still laughing, and slowly running after her. </p><p>She darts into her bedroom and I come in right behind her. Holding the towel out of my reach, she looks down lazily at me as I try to jump to get it from her. </p><p>“Too short,” she says, amused. </p><p>“Come on, I’m cold,” I giggle out. </p><p>She leans down and kisses me again, handing me the towel as she does so. I waste no time in wrapping it around me, eager for that warmth. </p><p>When we part, we dry ourselves and get dressed. She throws on some sweatpants and a t-shirt and I am wearing a hoodie she found hanging in her closet. </p><p>I suddenly realize the lack of undergarments. “My underwear.” </p><p>“Huh? You don’t go commando?” </p><p>“No? What gave you that impression?” </p><p>“Oh,” Zorin grunts, giving a dismissive wave, “You’ll be fine for tonight. I’m sure I’ve got some sweats you can wear home tomorrow to cover you up.” </p><p>“You don’t want them back?” </p><p>“Nah, you can have them. Now, come here.”</p><p>Ever so obedient, I crawl over to her on the bed. She wraps her arms around my waist and squeezes lightly. I relish the warmth I am getting; she’s like a human heater. Burying my head in her chest, I find even more warmth. She doesn’t really say anything this, only moves to readjust herself and get comfortable with me on top of her. </p><p>Then I doze off, in her arms.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm not too sure where this story is going</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>1. Yes, I know I have other works that I should be updating, but give me a break-I'm trying. Anyways, I started this sometime last year, and forgot all about it until just now. It was supposed to be an original work, but at last minute I decided to make it an AU for Zorin. Some things could change or be added to the tags, so do keep that in mind. </p><p>2. I plan on only having Zorin in this, but there is a small possibility that Rip could be thrown in. I haven't really made up my mind. Other than that, I don't think any other characters will be included. </p><p>3. Enjoy :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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